


Caller ID

by crookedspoon



Series: Days Gone By [28]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Community: 31_days, Gen, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-05
Updated: 2009-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written on Jan 05, 2009 for the prompt "Caller ID" at penombrelilas' <a href="http://penombrelilas.livejournal.com/91606.html#comments">drabble tag</a> and Jan 24, 2009 "oh how could anyone not love your cold black heart?" from 31_days.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Caller ID

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on Jan 05, 2009 for the prompt "Caller ID" at penombrelilas' [drabble tag](http://penombrelilas.livejournal.com/91606.html#comments) and Jan 24, 2009 "oh how could anyone not love your cold black heart?" from 31_days.

Squalo jerked awake a second before shrill ringing could have taken him by surprise. The morning sun glared at him, brightness stabbing at his eyes and paving the way for a massive headache. He glared back.

Turning to the source of his annoyance, he snatched the offending device. One look at the caller ID and his temper has turned as sour as his look.

"VOOII!" he yelled into the phone, with all the enthusiasm of a person woken up on their off day. "Who gave you pisshead the permission to call me so fucking early?"

"Good morning to you too," Dino chuckled, unwelcome as ever. "Just wanted to make sure whether you intended to oversleep our additional training regimen."

"I don't have the fucking need to train with you. Call me again and I'm gonna slice you to ribb—" Before he managed to finish his blood-thirsty statement, a suprised yell and random noises from the other end of the line caught him short, effectively nullifying the full weight of his threat.

"Hahaha, sorry," Dino's laugh could be heard again, apologetic this time. "I dropped my cell. You still there?"

"I'm hanging up now, fucktard," he growled in a rare show of manners. He should have cut off the conversation at the first word out of Dino's mouth; that idiot never had anything worthwhile to say, after all.

"I take it that you're coming."

"Like hell I will." Where did that Cavallone come up with his fucked up notions? Annoyed as he was, Squalo tugged the ends of his shoulder-length hair, snarling at the image of his klutz of a classmate and the world in general. (He always played with the silvery strands when he was close to snapping and had no one to choke.)

"Not even for a chat?" There was a hint of disappointment in Dino's voice.

"Who the fuck would want to talk to you?" Squalo got sick of this conversation. Dino sounded like some lovesick girl, who couldn't stand to see the object of her affection for a day. Did that guy have no one else to latch on to?

"You still haven't hung up on me. That's telling, isn't it?"

That did it. Bastard had no right to sound so smug. "I'm gonna cut you to bits!" To underline his intention of causing bodily harm, he smashed his cell against the walls of his cramped bedroom, imagining all the different patterns he wanted to cut out of Dino's skin.

No one got away with angering Superbi Squalo without paying in blood.


End file.
